


Steven and Stuart

by Agoodcaptain



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Cookerson implied mention, M/M, brinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agoodcaptain/pseuds/Agoodcaptain
Summary: Two lanky bowlers, two hundred years of history and one much too small bathtub. Inspired by that fantastic interview they did at Lord's in the summer of 2012, and imagining what happened after it. I know I know it was a long time ago but I've only just got back into fic and it seemed like fertile ground





	Steven and Stuart

“You can’t do it from the bath!” Stuart blurted, blushing in an uncontrollable schoolboy way that he absolutely hated.  
Steven merely grinned in response, silently asking the question, why the hell not.  
“Because it’s weird,” Stuart filled in, not missing a beat, because they didn’t always need to voice their inner feelings to each other to be understood, oftentimes it was impossible for them, but they just somehow knew.  
Steven stepped up to Stuart, their lips inches apart, making Stuart’s heart race like it was their first time all over again; it always felt like their first time, but then again, it really didn’t.  
“I thought you liked weird,” the brunette challenged, his voice just above a whisper.  
Stuart glanced around, putting a hand in his partner’s chest, as he stepped back.  
“Finny…” Stuart takes a second to recover, and as the nickname comes out Steven knows the spell is broken and shrugs to cover the slight.  
“People will find it weird,” Stuart affirmed, trying to convince himself more than anything.

There were people all around them in the Lord’s corridors, no one actually in the changing room with them but the England media officer was coming in and out, and the sound guy had just fitted them for the mics and had gone off to look for spare batteries; they should be being careful. But Steven wasn’t much for careful. If he’d always been careful, he and Stuart would have gotten up from where they had drunkenly fallen on top of each other in the Adelaide hotel corridor, they would have awkwardly shuffled off to their own separate rooms, saying to themselves it was just their imagination and the beer, and their lips would’ve remained unkissed. 

Steven loved reminding Stuart of that first encounter; rubbing in the fact that if Stuart had been setting the pace, they would still be surviving on accidentally-on-purpose brushing knees in the changing room and holding on a little too long in post-wicket hugs. What Stuart never revealed is that Stuart had leaned alternately on Alastair Cook, Andy Flower and various members of team, ground and hotel staff to make sure Steven was not only in the England squad but next to him in the changing room and seated together on planes, in restaurants – if it hadn’t had been for Stuart, they wouldn’t have happened at all. He had used the guise of fast bowler’s union and mentorship to cover for why they were always together, neglecting to explain why that rarely included Jimmy. He was always off with Alastair anyway. 

“You’re such a prude, Stu,” Steven giggled, ruffling Stuart’s hair even though he had seen the blonde work so hard on it in the mirror this morning while Steven was still lounging in bed.  
Stuart couldn’t resist a pouty, “You know that’s not true,” just as Chris, the media officer came back into the room with some flashily dressed guests from the sponsor. Steven pinched Stuart on the hip as he went to shake hands, clearly enjoying the colour flooding into the older man’s cheeks. 

After some awkward small talk, Chris gives Stuart a sheet of questions and a camera and leaves them to it, not even blinking as Steven climbs into the bath, and Stuart scowls in response. Steven cut an inelegant figure at the best of times, even more so with his limbs sticking out of the much too small tub, fiddling with his phone that looked semi-ridiculous in his giant hands, but Stuart couldn’t help but fall a little bit more in love with the beautiful clumsy giraffe in front of him.

The interview was a list of Twitter questions; Stuart figured they were safe. But with Finny, there was nothing safe or sacred, that was what made him so exciting; that was what made him so terrifying. And then the questions strayed onto women, “What’s your type?” Stuart asks, and they slip easily into the role of The Single Lads™. Stuart gives just as good as Steven, turning the camera on himself to list the qualities he’s looking for in a girlfriend even though no one had asked, starting with “pretty”. They had played the roles long before they had got together, long before they’d even met each other, and they were perfect in them. There were no off-days, no days of not rising to the occasion, no under-par performances – at this, they were top of the game, they were world-fucking-class; they had to be. 

“Well I’ll leave you to run the bath and actually get in it,” Stuart teased, hiding a greedy grin behind the camera as he took in the bowler’s lean form with the lens, remembering how good those legs looked around his own ears.  
“When you get out, you’re going to be stiff… your back I mean,” Stuart added but not without due pause. If Steven was in that mood, then there was no getting him to calm down or behave, so Stuart might as well take advantage and join in. Stuart turned off the camera and Steven sat up in the bath, smiling that big soppy smile as if he was perfectly contented to just be around Stuart, it dropped Stuart twenty stories down every time. 

Chris ambled back into the room and Steven started indelicately hoisting himself out of the bath.  
“Don’t get up,” Stuart whispered, his voice gruffer than he’d meant it to be, urgent. Steven narrowed his eyes but did as he was told as Stuart took care of the pleasantries with Chris, handing him the camera and most importantly getting him out as quickly as possible and closing – no, locking - the door behind him. Stuart was desperate to touch Steven, to taste the whole of him but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet so he seated himself on the side of the bath, looking down over the prone man beneath him, enjoying the rare moment of having the upper hand.

“Something about changing rooms, huh Stu? Lord’s in particular actually, now that I’m thinking about it. Told you it was the best ground in cricket,” Steven joked, refusing to recognise the power shift. Stuart didn’t say anything in response; he just started to lean over Steven, sliding one of his legs either side, straddling him, holding him in place with his strong limbs and an unwavering gaze. Steven tried to lean up to meet Stuart’s lips but Stuart placed a firm hand in his chest once again, but this time he didn’t move away from Steven, he leaned into him, firm grip on his shoulders and face inching painfully slowly downwards.

“Am I your type Stu?” Steven breathed, “Do you find me pretty?”  
“Pretty annoying,” Stuart retorted, his mind as always, programmed to banter.  
Steven laughed, a lower sound than his usual childish giggle.  
“Pretty fit,” Stuart continued, finishing the thought with a kiss, warm but brief.  
“You aren’t too bad yourself.”  
“Pretty sexy,” Stuart kept going, sliding his hands under Steven’s layers.  
“Pretty…” Stuart tried to think of another adjective that was fitting, but much like Steven’s trouser legs, everything seemed to come up short. Luckily, Steven came to the rescue.  
“You know what Stu? You’re pretty talkative, pretty boy.”  
And then the time for conversation had passed and moans and grunts became the main method of communication, their desperate need for each other talked out in grappling and pulling, licking and biting, taste and touch. 

But it started with Steven silencing Stuart with a hungry kiss that told him all the teasing during the interview had only been foreplay, a stirring warm-up for what’s to come. All talk of pretty girls and single boys banter was forgotten now; all that existed was the two of them right now in this bath, not the two hundred years of cricket history around them or the pressing realities of the cricket present that they lived in, just the desire rising like steam between them.

Stuart began to pull at Steven’s t-shirt and jumper, too impatient to take them off one by one. Steven tried to help but he only succeeded in bashing his head rather painfully on the underside of the tap. Stuart wanted to laugh at the utter slapstick absurdity of the situation but he had made a speciality of ruining the mood and he would be damned if he let his own clumsy sensibilities derail things. Despite outward appearances, Stuart was the least cool person, and around Steven that was even more true. When Stuart had asked how Steven could have been so sure his feelings towards Stuart would be reciprocated, Steven merely laughed and said Stuart being unable to form proper sentences around him was his first clue, Stuart’s blushing up to his earlobes any time Steven looked at him had been his next. 

Instead, Stuart firmly held Steven in place, “Don’t. Move.” Steven shrugged and surrendered; letting his arms go limp as another part of his anatomy did precisely the opposite. Stuart slowly, gently peeled off Steven’s layers, trying to fight the energy that wanted to do it so much faster and rougher than that. Stuart hastily did away with his own top half but as he was throwing his top out the way with what he pictured as cool nonchalance, he knocked into the tap and it started spurting cold water down the back of Steven’s neck. 

“Bollocksing arse that’s cold!” Steven screeched while jerking upwards and barely missing another collision with the tap.  
“Sorry,” Stuart said with a laugh, unable to suppress it this time, as he lovingly stroked Steven’s now damp hair.  
“If you’re trying to give me a cold shower Stu, it’s a bit late for that,” Steven smirked, indicating with his eyes that his cock was barely being contained by his jeans.  
“No, I…” Stuart floundered.  
“Can you turn it off now please?” Steven ordered, his grumpiness only amusing Stuart more.  
“Sure,” Stuart said reaching up towards the tap, getting an idea as he did so. Steven noticed the glint in the blonde man’s eye but decided to surrender to his curiosity as Stuart turned the cold tap off and in the same movement, turned the hot tap on full, soaking them both with seconds.

“You bastard!” Steven cursed but his devilish smile remained, as Stuart continued to kiss him, letting the warm water run around them, slicking their jeans to their legs. As the weight of the water on Steven’s legs became too much, he wiggled his arms from underneath Stuart’s weight and began to uncomfortably extricate him and his partner from their trousers, attempting not to break their kiss or block Stuart’s roaming hands from exploring his body. Steven hadn’t gotten very far when Stuart decided to take over, pulling the now sodden trousers down Steven’s legs, finishing with a not so graceful tug. He then leaned himself back - difficult, as it was to move away from Steven, even for a moment – in order to unbutton himself from his jeans and freeing his erection at last. The manoeuvre was more awkward than he’d wanted it to be but any sense of him being smooth had been dispelled with Steven long ago so he decided not to dwell on it - as he too often had done with trivialities like this in the past, over-thinking was very much his forte - and instead stayed in the heated moment between them.

As he leaned back towards the 6 foot 8 (or so he claimed) fast bowler, he took in his nude form, looking even more attractive as he glistened with water.  
“Stop staring at me you dumb prick, and kiss me,” Steven directed and Stuart obliged, collapsing their wet, naked bodies together at last. Sure there was more comfortable, more roomy places in the dressing room – and they’d explored them well over the last couple of years but that was just it; they’d done all that. They’d done unspeakably common things in luxury hotels with feather-down beds and fluffy marshmallow pillows, and they’d come all the way home in the comfort of both of their own flats twenty five junctions apart on the M1. This was different, exciting even. And there was also the fact that they had locked the door to the rest of the changing room, and all that surrounded them was unforgiving wooden benches. Plus, right outside the door were way too many people; so they had to stay put, and stay quiet. 

This feat was becoming increasingly hard to accomplish, with the moans of pleasure being interspersed with just as many giggles. They had never taken each too seriously, no matter the situation, because in order to get through the lives they led - seeing each other at their best and worst, in victory and defeat, dolled up in suits for an event and red-faced after losing to Cooky in the bleep test, and still want to be together - well, you had to have a sense of humour. And you had to become very good at phone sex. Or at least sexy Snapchat selfies, which thankfully, they both were. 

The two athletic men wrestled for control in the confined space, their bodies getting slicker from water, sweat and the precum leaking from Steven as Stuart worked his famously dextrous hand. Steven began shivering as the orgasm threatened, so he froze Stuart with a firm hand and a gruff, “Stu, stop, now.” Steven righted himself and gently pushed Stuart onto his back so he was leaning on the slope of the tub, then placed a knee either side. Stuart blinked doe-y eyes at Steven as the sun dipped outside, warming the room with a romantic twilight glow. Steven ran his fingers down the length of Stuart’s milky chest, smirking as Stuart shuddered beneath him. Steven lingered, stroking Stuart teasingly along his ribs, his hips, and inwards to his rock-hard cock. 

Steven used the back of his hand to go down its lengthy underside ever so slowly. Stuart huffed impatiently, as Steven veered away from his moist hole.  
“Steven Thomas Finn, I swear if you don’t put something inside me in the next ten sec-“  
Stuart’s admonishment halted as Steven shoved the two fingers that usually went along a cricket ball seam into Stuart’s hungry entrance. It gratefully swallowed them in, anticipating Steven’s cock that followed soon after. Steven steadied himself on the outside of the tub with one hand, spreading his fingers out for balance, while using his other hand to reach for Stuart beneath the water, gripping his shaft not at all gently and simultaneously thrusting deep inside Stuart. The intense mixture of pleasure and pain was almost enough to send Stuart over the edge, and Steven was getting close too, enjoying both the feeling of being inside Stuart and holding the power over him as he gave another thrust and yank. Determined not to let Steven win again, or at least not yet, Stuart circled Steven’s skinny wrist and said, not loudly but deliberately, “You’re going to want to hold on with both hands for this.”

Steven hesitated but obliged, after a rough kiss to show he wasn’t completely giving in. Stuart walked his hands from Steven’s hips round to the base of his spine and then began working on Steven’s entrance as the brunette continued to rock rhythmically, grinding into Stuart. The movements became less and less steady as Stuart teased each finger gently into Steven, culminating in one almighty thrust after Stuart grew impatient and jammed his whole thumb into the hole. As soon as Stuart’s knuckle grazed Steven’s prostate, he was finished, and his subsequent movement did for Stuart, who came with a roar that would wake the cricketing Gods, and surely alerted anyone who happened to still be in the corridors. 

Steven collapsed his wet torso onto Stuart with a sigh, not without protest from the latter, who was now squished beneath.  
“Ouch, you big clumsy oaf!” Stuart chastised, trying unsuccessfully to manoevre Steven off him.  
“You can say I’m clumsy but I bet I can make you cum with just my pinky,”  
“Yeah I know, I remember after that team night out in Leeds,”  
“Oh. Yeah.” Steven grinned smugly.  
“Don’t pretend you weren’t waiting for me to bring that up,” Stuart’s rebuke was knowing but affectionate, he continued, “and yes, with the ball, and with… well, with me, you are fairly dextrous. But outside of that you’re just beautiful clumsy giraffe who’s just started learning to walk.”  
Stuart always thought of Steven like this in his head but from the way Steven was looking at him with big, wet eyes, he’d clearly never expressed it out loud. 

Steven rolled off Stuart and onto his side, propping his elbow up on the bath and placing his other hand on Stuart’s jawline. Steven spoke unflinchingly and without a trace of mockery, only a note of surprise,  
“You think I’m beautiful?”  
Stuart couldn’t help but feel like he’d said the most desperately uncool thing once again.  
“Well, yeah. Sort of.”  
Steven leaned into Stuart, grazing their noses together, not breaking eye contact, although he could tell Stuart was fighting an urge to look away.  
“I think you’re beautiful too. Sort of.”  
Steven finally broke his thousand-yard stare as he closed his eyes and kissed Stuart fully, not letting up until they both were almost out of breath. 

Steven pulled back, flashed that big sappy smile of his, slapped Stuart playfully and then shifted onto his back so they were pressed together, both staring at the ceiling.  
“Two blokes calling each other beautiful,” Steven giggled, “how gay is that?”  
It was an old joke between them; so immature, so overdone, but somehow still funny.  
“So gay,” Stuart agreed with a guilty laugh, “almost as gay as them lying naked-“  
“And wet,” Steven cut in.  
“And wet,” Stuart affirmed, “in a bathtub together.”  
“Almost as gay, Steven picked up, “as them having sex with each other.”  
“You’re right. That’s pretty fucking gay.”  
Their laughter echoed, bouncing off the tub with a metallic, almost maniacal quality to it.  
Out the window, they saw a light go on across the ground in the press box, no doubt a cleaner preparing for the hoarde of reporters soon to be invading for the first day of tomorrow’s test. It was an unwelcome reminder that the world they existed in was much bigger than this bathtub, and it couldn’t be ignored forever. But maybe they could put it off for a bit longer. 

“Come on,” Steven whispered, afraid he’d dispel the dreamy haze around them if he spoke too loudly,  
“I know a quiet way out.”  
They dressed silently, their skin still damp underneath the Middlesex training kit they’d found hidden away in a changing room cupboard. Though they’d have a hard time explaining the soaking wet jeans they’d left behind to the lads, Steven refused to think too much about tomorrow and its hard edges, pulling Stuart by the hand through a maze of dark corridors. They passed an industrial-looking kitchen and finally reached outside via door that felt like it hadn’t budged in Lord’s two hundred year history and only gave way with a weighty shoulder shove from them both. It was dark now and there really wasn’t anyone around but it was only Steven’s solid grip that kept Stuart’s hand in his, as they snaked their way around the outside of the ground and to their cars.

“So see you back at yours? Or you want to get some food from-“ Stuart’s far too ordinary sentence was stopped abruptly, as Steven – after a quick glance round about them – shoved Stuart back on to his car and kissed him like it was their first time, or their last, like it was their only chance to live this much.  
“Finny…” was all Stuart could manage when it was all over.  
“No. Tomorrow I’m Finny. Tomorrow I’m just your friend; tomorrow it’s fast bowler’s union and banter, and calling each other mate. We have a few more hours of being Stuart and Steven. So, drive as fast as legally possible to my flat, we’ll order a takeaway we really shouldn’t be eating the day before a test, stick David Attenborough on and I’ll fondle you under the blanket.”

Stuart’s heart was too full, his eyes stinging too much, to do anything but nod in response, opening his car door and beginning to climb inside. Before he could close the door, Steven grabbed it and stuck his head between it and Stuart.  
“You look quite fit in that Middlesex kit by the way, maybe you should think about moving south.”  
Stuart was pretty sure Steven was joking but they’d had too many similar arguments for him to be completely certain and Stuart wasn’t keen to check.  
“No, no. No cricket talk tonight, remember? Just Stuart and Steven.”  
“Stuart and Steven.”

The agreement was sealed with a quick peck on the cheek before Steven extricated himself from his awkward position leaning far too low for his six foot eight frame. He watched Stuart drive off and out of the gates before he made his way to his own car, ready to do the same. He looked up briefly at the Pavilion, not really feeling anything in particular for it or nothing he could admit to or name, before folding himself behind the steering wheel and driving into the wonderfully anonymous noise of London’s streets.


End file.
